


Serenity Lost

by Internet_XxxPl0r3rxxX



Category: DragonFable (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Can Be Read As Romantic, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hero POV, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Lost Love, Memories, Past Character Death, reader POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Internet_XxxPl0r3rxxX/pseuds/Internet_XxxPl0r3rxxX
Summary: Her name was fitting. She always brought you such peace of mind no matter how mad the world got. And now...
Relationships: Hero & Serenity (DragonFable)
Kudos: 1





	Serenity Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Got inspired by the recent uptick in posts on here in light of Valentine's Day and figured I'd try my hand at a fic too. Wound up being kinda sad.

She’d always be there in the mornings, working away at another guest’s meal or sweeping the floors, doing something to make the place shine as brightly as she did. But by the time you got yourself dressed and out the door after she gave you your wakeup call, a plate would be there, hot-and-ready. You’d think that after so many mornings it’d be at least room temperature once, but it was always just right. (She insisted she didn’t practice magic.) She’d vary it up each time too. You suppose it was no more than maybe seven meals she alternated between, but breakfast never felt like repetition when she made it. The taste never felt over-eaten, boring. 

You think back sometimes to when you helped her move in. Despite popular belief, one can, in fact, punch ghosts. Though swords and daggers and magic work a bit better. It was no easy feat clearing out the inn for her, if her shocked reaction at the state you were in was anything to go by when you reported back. You assured her you were fine (even though you weren’t) and then firmly insisted she should see about maybe suing whoever sold her the place for false advertising. A property can have, at most, two suspected spirits bound to it before the owner or holder is required to have them cleared out, either by hiring an adventurer and hoping for the best or springing a bit more for an actual paladin. It’s one of those laws you learned from your training with the guardians, and you only remember it because of how absurd it sounded the first time you heard it.

She thought it was silly too, if her laugh was anything to go by. It was a melodic sound, warm and soft and natural. It always did things to your heart when you heard it, made you feel better about yourself if it was because of you. She said it was no trouble, really, you handled it before anything could happen. But then you point out, serious as can be, that something COULD have happened. Her inn’s dead-center in the busiest city in the whole kingdom, right next to the forge and along all the major paths. She’s guaranteed to get traffic, filling up half her rooms with bookings before nightfall wouldn’t even be that hard to achieve. And if she did that while there was still a ghost problem her guests could’ve died, she could’ve died. Her smile falls. Her eyes, still wide and bright and green, take on a more serious glint. She nods, mutely, mulling over everything you just told her. She finally points out she put all her money into the inn, she couldn’t afford to sue anyways. You tell her you’ll handle it, and she protests, but you assure her it’s no skin off your back. Save enough people from burning buildings and one of them is bound to be a lawyer that suddenly owes you a favor. You had three at the time. 

You had to handle a disturbance in Surewood the next day, but you stopped in once you came back to town. It’s nightfall by then, and you were exhausted. The bandits weren’t particularly dangerous but there were just so many of them to go through. When she sees you the smile she wore went from bright to blinding, and she quickly ran up to wrap you in a hug like you’d known each-other all your lives and not at all like you’d just met yesterday. She gestures to the tables and you see that almost all of them are full. She talked a mile a minute, about all the people that came in, about how at this rate she’s set to pay back the few loans she had to take to get started, but then she noticed how haggard you looked. You felt a little self-conscious, worrying her like that, but then she reached up and cupped a hand to your face, tilting it around to check for any nicks or scrapes. 

It’s an intimate gesture but she does it so casually, and you can’t bring yourself to mind because you can’t remember when last you had the time or the connection with someone to be touched like this. She didn’t pay any mind to the patrons, satiated as they were by good drink and food, as she took your hand and pulled you gently along behind her. She took a room key off the rack, differentiated by a ribbon the color of your eyes, and wordlessly led you upstairs. You reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of a room with a plaque on it, one that bore your name. She explains that since you went above and beyond to make today a reality, it was only fair she did the same. She said a free room was the best she could provide, but it was yours. This little space (that’d you’d later find out was right across from her own) would always be there for you to rest your head, and there’d always be a meal waiting for you when you woke up. All you had to do was ask. 

Next she’s stumbling over her own words, apologizing of all things as if she did something wrong, saying how she wished she could do more. You squeezed her hand a little to get her attention and offered her a smile. You say it’s already too much, that it’s one of the greatest gifts you’ve ever received, and- well then you’re cut off by a long yawn. The kind that loosens up your whole body. She guided you gently to the bed and you didn’t stop her. She pressed the key into your hands and went to leave. She tossed one last kind glance over her shoulder at you and asked what you wanted for breakfast. You can’t remember what you told her. You were asleep barely after she closed the door. 

You try to remember her like that, full of life and not carved in stone. Try to remember what she was and not what she was turned into. Try to remember the good times you shared instead of how you failed her. You try… 

But most nights, as you lie in the same bed that doesn’t feel the same, in the same inn that feels so alien now, all you can manage to do is cry for the woman that’s not there anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Might be part of a series of stories I'll try and knock out before the end of the month but no promises. 
> 
> If I made any errors or typos, or could reformat my writing a bit better, feel free to let me know.


End file.
